


We wear the mask

by GingerAndHyde



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Gen, Just a lil pre-Hyde drabble, intrusive thoughts TW, kind of my own take on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerAndHyde/pseuds/GingerAndHyde
Summary: Dr. Henry Jekyll is a perfect society man- sociable, friendly, and always in control. At least, that’s what he wants everyone to think.
Kudos: 32





	We wear the mask

**Author's Note:**

> Just a first-person fic investigating what goes on in my Jekyll’s head pre-Hyde! I kind of created this (and this take on the story) as a weird venting mechanism- I have anxiety and deal with intrusive thoughts, so? I made a thing?  
> There will be more J&H drabbles and lil things to come, so...yeah  
> (This is my first thing on ao3? So I have no idea what I’m doing?)

I host dinner parties often. Small gatherings of acquaintances and friends- nothing too large- intended for discussion. Never of personal things (of course not), but research, recent reading, current events and the like. Usually Friday or Saturday evenings. Often purely out of social obligation rather than any actual desire for company.  
Tonight I want to be alone. I _need_ to be alone.

Unfortunately, this is not to be; I had invited several colleagues and friends for drinks and discussion a week ago. I would rather be silent. Ideally, I’d spent tonight alone in my chambers with a book and a bottle, but-  
A knock at the door. I rise from my armchair as Poole welcomes in a small group of men, most of them very familiar faces.  
“Jekyll!” The only voice I am glad to hear calls to me as Gabriel Utterson weaves his way around the others, shedding his overcoat and approaching me by sitting area near the fire. “It’s been too long.”  
“Why, it’s only been a week.”  
Gabriel is not only my lawyer, but is likely the closest friend (or whatever passes for a friend) that I have. We’ve known each other since our college days and remained close; he’s been a staple fixture of these little gatherings since I began hosting them. I will not lie, the sight of him among the others has brought unspeakable relief.  
“How are you? Is all alright? I’d heard you’d shut yourself up again for a time,” Gabriel asks softly, his voice obscured by the light chatter of the other men. I force a smile.  
“All is well, I assure you. I was merely not feeling up to snuff, and rightly presumed that some rest would do me good,” I responded. Gabriel nods soberly.  
“I keep telling you that you cannot expect to keep your health if you continue to overwork yourself,” he says.  
He believes me. Of course he does. He has no reason to suspect that I had not been ill. Why would he?  
He does not need to know the real reason I had locked myself in the dissecting theater for five consecutive days.  
He does not need to know the real reason behind my sleepless nights.  
He does not need to know that there are thoughts that are not my own inside my head.  
  
I put on a welcoming smile for my visitors as we settle about the sitting area. Gabriel seems to suppose that something is off- he’s always been a rather intuitive man- and settles into a chair next to mine. Drinks are passed around and we fall into an easy sort of conversation, one which I pray will avoid certain topics which might be...inconvenient to address.  
My prayer goes unanswered.  
“Well, Jekyll, I believe we have left a potentially rather interesting conversation unaddressed,” begins one man; one Dr Porter, who I had studied alongside briefly and remained in contact with through the years, though communication could be spotty (for a quite obvious reason: I find the man a distasteful nuisance. However, one does what one must to save face). “I’ve been told that you’ve been undertaking some projects of a more personal nature. Care to elaborate?”  
Damn.  
“I have, in fact,” I start tentatively, “been looking into potential solutions for an issue regarding my own...health. But I’m afraid that this is, as you say, rather personal, so I’d rather keep the fine details undisclosed at present.” He raises a black eyebrow laced with silver.  
“Come now, you do trust us, don’t you? I see no reason why you can’t share.”  
I actually almost laugh. If I shared my current idea with them, they’d either laugh me out of the room or stuff me into a madhouse. The idea does sound rather ridiculous out of context, even I’ll admit. And half of its purpose is anonymity- why spoil my secret with these people, especially before it had even come to fruition?  
“Perhaps later, Dr Porter,” I lie, beaming. The corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a frustrated fashion. The others chuckle, somewhat uncomfortably.  
A beat.  
 _Imagine what he’d look like without eyes. _  
__My fingers curl into a fist as a vividly detailed mental image flashes through my head. Intrusive and unwanted. The familiar rise of an anxious bout of nausea. I try to dismiss the thought _ _- _hollow eye sockets. Maybe blood? _-____ and discreetly take a breath.  
A tap on the arm. Gabriel, concerned, is directing a worried look at me.   
“Are you quite sure you are no longer under the weather?”, he asks quietly. I gather myself and nod.  
Tonight is off to a splendid start _.  
_

Minutes crawl by at irregular speeds. My mind continues to play its tricks on me.   
_Push him into the fireplace?  
Tell him what you _really _think of his wife.  
Tear at his clothes, his skin- _  
__I continue to wear a false smile _ _.__

We finally move into the dining room, aglow with candlelight, where Ada (a maid of mine, a wisp of a girl taken in from a workhouse) has just stepped aside from setting the table. Plates are laid before us; conversation continues.  
“By the by, Jekyll,” remarks the thin blond Porter had brought along with him- a thirtysomething chemist by the surname of Wilson- “Our paths crossed somewhat the other day, though you may not have known it. I had paid a visit to a pharmacy downtown to restock some supplies when who should I see but one of your errand-boys. The little black-haired one? I usually would have paid it no mind, but he placed a remarkably large order for a certain salt on your behalf. Pray tell, why do you need so much of the stuff?”  
I flinch, hopefully not noticeably.  
“It pertains to that personal project of mine. I fear it requires much trial and error. Better to overstock than run out at a critical moment, you know,” I respond, my voice a tad quieter than I wish it to be. I suppose my dismissive attitude produced the anticipated result, as the conversation swiftly turned to other things. I fall silent. My mind does not.  
 _Knife,_ it whispers, my eyes landing on a particularly sharp specimen of the aforementioned variety of cutlery. My stomach falls in anticipation of the barrage of thoughts to follow. _ _ _Stab yourself,___ a thought intrudes. Another unwelcome guest.  
No, I think to myself. _ _ _ _ _ _  
 _Stab yourself,_______ the thought insists. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Think of what it would feel like. Blade in flesh- _  
__________NO _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _. _  
____________I can still feel the thought lurking in the edges of my mind as my heartbeat quickens its pace.  
“...Jekyll?”  
The table has quieted. Eyes are on me. Too many eyes.  
“You’re dreadfully pale,” Utterson says, brows furrowed. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
____________I move my lips soundlessly _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.  
 _Stab _ **Gabriel**.  
“______________Are you quite alright, Jekyll?”, Porter asks, leaning forwards in his seat. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
 _Stab Porter. Stab him, stab him, stab him, STAB HIM- _  
“________________ I am not...I am not feeling well,” I manage through dry lips, “but...it would be bad form to dismiss you all on behalf of...minor discomfort.”  
Curse etiquette. Curse saving face, curse reputation, curse it all _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.________________

To the study. Coffee and brandy flow freely. I drink copious amounts of the latter; anything to quiet my restless, invasive brain. The others swap accounts of their own endeavors as I stare numbly into the fire.  
How I wish my project was complete! To be able to escape this body, this mind. To separate these thoughts (and the sinful desires I willingly fantasize on, before recoiling in disgust at myself) into another form. One that can run wild on its own accord without tainting _my_ name. But none of the tests I had done on rabbits thus far had been successful. Far from it. Bodies torn in two, terrible brain damage, bones brittle as twigs...  
 _Set your sleeve on fire,_ my mind hisses as I strike a match for a candle. _ _  
 _Will I ever be free of you?___

The night rolls on. Fruits and desserts are consumed and visitors begin to leave one by one. Doctors Carlisle and Andrews, Professor Burgundy, and Sir Taylor all depart. Final cups of tea are served to stragglers. Porter and Wilson take their leave (at long last), leaving only Gabriel Utterson at the fire beside me. As usual, he is the last to leave- always there to help me regain the calm he knows I’ve lost.  
“You aren’t well, are you?”, he says softly. I put on a smile. He tilts his head quizzically. “Come now, Jekyll, that one’s too bright, even for you.”  
The smile is dropped with a sigh.  
“I’ll manage, Utterson. I always do.”  
“What is troubling you? You looked like Macbeth seeing Banquo’s specter at the table tonight.”  
I shudder at the thought. Was it that obvious?  
“It is simply the issue of my health that my personal project is attempting to resolve. Do not worry for me; I’ve treated my own ailments often enough. Consider it routine.”  
He frowns, worry etched upon his face.  
“Shall I check in on you later this week? To be sure that all is well?”, he offers, shifting in his seat.  
“Unless complications arise- feel free to,” I respond with a weak but genuine smile. Gabriel rises from his seat and pats my shoulder. To my surprise, I feel some of my tension disperse at the touch. After absorbing and savoring the slight relief as much as I could, I rise and escort him to the door. He turns back to face me again before I close it.  
“Take care, Henry.”  
“The same to you, Gabriel.”

The temporary relief fades away, replaced by the onslaught of anxiety. I steal away to my chambers and my books before settling into bed, waiting for sleep that refuses to come- my mind is _far_ too loud for that- yet dreaming of the day my project may finally set me free.


End file.
